Page 80 of The Witch

“Well,” he says, “it’s definitely inhabited by spirits.”

Good to know.

Dixon enters the house, striding past me to the living room. He walks over to the recorder he left on the mantel and inspects it. Ever since the incident in the shed outside, I’ve been desperate to get some answers about Caroline, so I hope this isn’t a complete bust.

“Seems like we got a good recording. I should have this analyzed in a week.” He pauses. “Also, I take Venmo.”

“Okay…”

He beams at me. “By the way, I’ve got a bargain listed on my website. There’s a charge for each spirit we connect with, but after the first two, you get the third for half price.”

“Uh, we really only want to know about Caroline.”

“Right, but…” He looks around. “This is a really old house. It’s full of spirits. Probably hundreds.”

I can’t even imagine what that would cost me, even with his half-price sale. Whether Caroline Eldridge is haunting this house or not, I’m beginning to question the ulterior motives of Alistair Dixon.

Dixon turns to leave, but before he does, he takes one last look at the painting. He freezes, as if his gaze is glued to the wall. For a moment, he just stands there while the grandfather clock ticks hypnotically.

Tick tick tick tick…

“I have to tell you, Julia,” he says, “that painting really freaks me out. I’ve never…”

I wait for him to complete his thought, but the words don’t come. “You’ve never what?”

And then there’s that same flicker of fear on his face that briefly flashed when the K2 indicator cracked. He takes a step back from the mantel and shakes his head, as if to clear it.

“Just be careful,” he says. “Don’t do anything to piss her off.”

I haven’t. Well, we did potentially dig one of Caroline’s bones up from the backyard…which I not only did not replace in the ground but removed from the property entirely. I sent it to a lab to be analyzed.

“I’ll be careful,” I promise.

59

1692

CAROLINE

Deputy Strickland takes me back to the jailhouse.

For the final time, I walk down the steep, rickety steps into the dark cellar. As much as I have hated staying here for the past week, I will long for it as they lead me to the gallows tomorrow.

Jonas is lying on his straw mattress, but he scrambles to his feet when he hears our footsteps. He looks upon me, but he does not ask about the trial. I am here, which means that it did not go as I hoped.

Strickland leads me back to my cell. I enter without argument, and as the door slams shut, I realize that the next time I feel the sun on my face, it will be on the way to my execution.

“I will return tonight with your dinner,” he tells me. “Your final meal.” He smiles that smug grin at me. “Perhaps I might bring you something special, if you are well behaved.”

I turn to stare at him. His wispy white-blond hair is plastered to his skull, and his eyes are glinting with satisfaction.

“Why did you do it?” I ask him in a hoarse whisper. “I might have been found innocent had you not brought false evidence into the court.”

He snorts. “You were never to be found innocent.”

“I might have been.” I hug my arms to my chest, shivering against a draft that sweeps across the room. “But you took pains to ensure Putman would find me guilty. And so I must ask: Why?”

The smile slowly fades from his lips. “Why?” he repeats. “You ask me why?”